The Problem with Pessimism

It occurs to me that the problem with sustaining a properly pessimistic outlook is that things really are getting better, well for me personally, anyway. And it's not like I'm winning the lottery or experiencing any great professional successes, but I do feel surrounded by love, and a guy can get by on that. And a paycheck.

So while I know the world is going to hell in a handbasket, I'm experiencing a bit of cognitive dissonance in my personal experience. They say the economy is faltering on the brink of a double dip recession, but I'm getting unsolicited contacts from recruiters, which hasn't happened since the wheels came off the internet bubble. Work is being nice. granting stock (paltry amounts) to the domestic rank and file all of a sudden, as if there's something less effective about shipping production to India, China, and what not.

And while were on the subject of me getting my ass handed to me...

Internal combustion engines suck. I've been trying to start my boat for two weeks. (No spark, leading me to the conclusion that the thrill is gone between us. Unfortunately I can't recall how BB King resolved this situation in his song.) Which might be part of the problem. Real mechanics prolly consult an engine manual or some stupid thing like that. Me? I consult the Blues.

I've consulted the Blues for many of life's little problems, and have found the the Blues are a particularly worthless reference when it comes to love advice. Ask the Blues a reasonable question like "Bad bitch done me wrong, what I do now?" And you get back suggestions like "Shoot her dead." and "Jump a northbound train."

I mean like what the fuck? Don't blues artists have real jobs!?! Shoot her dead? Really? Like that's what passes for conflict resolution in the delta? And jump a train north? Hello? I have to be at work in the morning.

We need a whole new form of the blues for whiney suburban dads like me.

Ass handing results.

As my dedicated readers will know, I took a soccer coaching exam a month ago, and finally got the results back. As anticipated, I did not get the coveted (by whom?) national D license, being judged to be "Not Ready". So I've got that going for me, which is nice. Now when people ask me to do something I'd rather not do, I can just say, "Oh, I'm not ready, I have like this official letter from WSYSA and everything."

Actually I think I got really close, but there was one teaching standard on my practice exams that I had trouble reaching, partially because my natural teaching style is more of laid back kind of let's see them "explore the space" of the drill, rather than directing it to exactly what I want to see the minute it varies from my script. And there are reasons to do it my way, cause soccer is a sport of "spontaneous expression" where magic happens if you cultivate the player's ability to create situations, but the reality of the exam environment is that you have to demonstrate that you can see and correct flaws in the execution of the exercise. And I could do that if it were a technical exercise, but a tactical exercise is... something I don't have enough experience with, and frankly when my excessively skillful co-candidates were running my exercises, I couldn't keep up with the speed they were moving. Which is my failing, I'll own it, and try to get better.

So I did not come out of this empty handed. While I did not get D national, I got the state D certificate, which means I am not a complete dumbshit. And more than that, I felt like I won the respect of my peers, even those who have a whole lot more invested in this process and a substantial chunk of their future tied up in succeeding. I meant there were folks who were trying to make a career of soccer coaching. That's some serious dedication to the sport, right there. So basically to have them take me seriously and respect my abilities. (I can pass very, very, very well, but you have to be good to appreciate how well (It was when I dropped the first 30 yard chip pass in over the defenders, that they realized it first. That pass takes a lot of touch, and most people have completely blown it enough times that they don't even try anymore.)) And they also respected my insights, if not always my judgement: "You know that flatback four formation is really difficult to coach." Me: "Yeah, but if you're going to teach the offsides trap and defending against through passes, it's the most intuitive formation for the kids."

And the final sour grapes moment: Getting the D national basically means you are ready to take the C National. As if. Look, you all saw me bitchin' about 38 hours of exam against tough competition, do you really think I'm going to sign up fro 68 hours of exam against even tougher competition? Not fuckin likely. I might retake D. But there's no way in hell I'm taking C.

In which I get my ass handed to me.

So in our last installment, we noted that I was headed for a fall with this soccer coaching certification. Oh how little did I know. So coaching isn't a big problem. I know my stuff. I can that part of it off.

The problem is I'm 48 years old. Some of the other candidates are 24 yo, former development team, Div I varsity, or English semi pro (in 1 case) players, and JESUSFUCKINGCHRIST they are a little difficult to play against for EIGHT GODDAMNED HOURS in the HOT SUN. I mean sure they are more skilled, but the thing about players that have played at that level is that they have an intensity level that goes to eleven so every fucking exercise is at level 10 which gets to be a little tiring.

So yeah, physically, I am a whupped as I've ever been.

Heading for a fall

Against my better judgment, I've signed up to try for my US Soccer D coaching license. I actually think I'm pretty well prepared, but it does involve committing my next two full weekends to dorking around with soccer drills. Most people only do this because their association (or employer) is leaning on them but I'm doing it for the pure love of the game. Well, and so that I don't have to do it later and really inconvenience myself. I did my "E" level last year, which is a certificate, and requires you to teach a lesson, but it's not graded and you can't really fail. The D is graded and you can fail and have to retake it. So, ummmm, the pressure is on.

I'm kind of very introverted by nature, though I've learned to move outside that barrier, and have taught adults in the classroom and on skis. I was actually a certified ski instructor upon a time, but my strength there was in my physical ability, rather than my pure teaching ability, which proved to be the yoke around my neck that prevented me for reaching the highest level of certification (despite three attempts.) You can kinda see why my anxiety level is rising.

So basically, I'm headed for a fall. I know I can do this but I'm expecting the worst. Which is as it should be.

Sorry seems to be the hardest word

You know its sad, so sad. It's a sad, sad situation. And we could talk it over, but I have nothing to say. So, sorry about the lack of posts. I'm just not getting anywhere near completion on anything remotely resembling the kind of blog post I'd like to make. So, sorry blogger peeps. My wife and kids love me though. So I've got that going for me. Which is nice.

(Now if anyone would just start meeting my expectations, I'd not feel such a profound disappointment. Sorry about that as well.)

Managing Your Expectations of your Children

Oh dear, it's been a while, hasn't it? Well, I've been out there gathering up some more negative experiences to share with y'all.

So my daughter likes to play soccer, and she's pretty good at it, but mostly because she's so darned athletic and runs harder than the others. But she's not super polished, like those kids who do their homework of their own free will and will practice anything you tell them over and over again until they get it right. It'll take her maybe three tries to get any one thing right, and then she's off chasing butterflies--if, in fact, she ever stops chasing butterflies long enough to hear what you're telling her to do. But she's instinctual. She takes the ball away from the other team, runs with it, and shoots, and scores... a lot.

So naturally I figured the best thing for her would be to play with girls that are better than her and can show her how and why she needs to pay attention to what she's doing. So she's been playing Rec league soccer, which is swell but very egalitarian so everyone's playing there, including the numerous kids who don't want to be playing but whose parents require them to do a sport. And the next step up is Select, but that doesn't start until she's a year or two older. And the next step up beyond that is Premier, which is pretty hardcore, but does start at her age group, so I'm thinking to myself "Yeah, that's the ticket, we'll get her in with these girls, get her some really good fundamental training for a year, and then she'll be set to either continue on with them, or go back down to where ever she's comfortable." Sounds like a good plan, doesn't it?

I should have known when I got the promotional emails from Eastside FC that said things like "your child's character will be forged in the crucible of intense competition" that we was in over our heads. I mean, don't get me wrong, Eastside is truly a high character organization, that stays away from a lot of the really shitty things that elite youth sports organizations do, and they do have some really really great professional soccer coaches on staff, but they are pretty fucking intense.

So anyway, we decided to go to the tryouts, and they recommended preparing for tryouts by taking your kids out and letting them play a bit. So that's what we did. We'd go to the park and kick the ball around. We'd work on skills. A was really receptive, and eager to improve. We had a great father-daughter bonding experience. And I felt pretty good about her chances of making one of the teams.

So anyway, we come to time for the tryout, and it's quite a major affair. There are around 70 girls trying out for 25 places, which it pretty intense competition for a 9-year-old, but I told her to just do her best, and that's all I expected of her. So anyway, we got out there for the first day, and dang! there's a lot of really good 9-year-olds, but whatever, we'll shine because of our athleticism.

Wrong! Cue the awful spring we're having, and the skies open up with a hard, steady rain and a temperature in the mid forties. It was pretty awful, and my daughter just got slower and slower as she got colder. And she wasn't the only one, but man, her game fell apart. I had to yell to her to keep moving, not for the sake of the tryout, but just to keep warm. After the longest 90 minutes ever, the first day was over. We scurried back to the car to get on dry clothes and warm up. So many little girls were just bawling as they walked off the field, they were all so cold.

So the next day was much better. Almost sunny, but Ooops! we forgot our ADHD medication in the morning, and we were so very frequently not on task. I know a lot of people think that kids are over-medicated these days and that ADHD is just some made up thing, but here's what it looks like during a soccer scrimmage: Cartwheel. Cartwheel. Attempted front flip. Steal the ball on defense. Run up the field, run back down the field. Cartwheel. Front flip. cartwheel. run up the field, steal the ball, breakaway, score. Cartwheel. Cartwheel. Cartwheel. run back down the field, deny scoring opportunity. Cartwheel. Attempted front flip... etc. for 90 minutes. Impressed with her energy, they moved her up to the next higher group, but she was just out of place there. raw, unpolished, not knowing the protocol, or where to stand, or what to do.

The third day was spent in the remainders group. And the girls played, but I think they knew he score. A was able to stop with the gymnastics, and kind of continued her reign of terror, but got very surly and sat out for a time. She said one of the girls was mean to her. I told her that she was stronger and faster that a lot of other girls, and that she should expect people to try to get even in mean ways. That it meant she was winning (durr!) and that letting them get to her meant that they were winning. We'll see if that sunk in. It's a good lesson for life.

So anyway, she didn't make it. But that's alright. And I told her that it was alright, and that all I wanted he to do was to try, and she did, and I was proud of her for that, and that I would always love her. And she told me that she thought the reason that she didn't make the team was that she didn't run all the time and that she did too much gymnastics. And that made me very happy with my disappointment.

And you know what else? It's been a really, really difficult winter, behavior-wise with the daughter but now she is happier and more relaxed, and we have a great relationship. That fucking stupid tryout was the best $20 I ever spent.

And in case you're wondering, she still loves soccer. I found a Sunday program for her, where she has to play with up to 1 year older kids, both boys and girls. And she's holding her own.